


Release

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: RP-verse [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Serious Injuries, Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:30:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: Recovering from a traumatic injury, York gets to go home.





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> More from the RP-verse; relevant backstory is that York had been attacked for his AI on a mission and his AI port (aka the back of his head) was nearly removed and caused some pretty gory damage. It's been a week or two since then, but he's still adjusting.
> 
> Alternating POVs between paragraphs, since it was a RP/collab. York is me, Carolina is IMAgentMI. (And this was her first smut so please leave us some lovely comments below!)

 

The headache that's been bothering York since he put the armor on is the kind he knows; like a migraine but with half the kick and more of the vision problems. At least, that's how AI fatigue works for him, little phantom shadows in the eye that doesn't work right any more and a steady ache.

He’s just not used to it happening this soon, is all. 

“Hey, Carolina,” he asks, when most of their impromptu dinner/lunch is over and he’s just poking at the dregs of soup left in the bowl, “wanna pull D for me after this?”

Carolina finished cleaning her tray several minutes before him, and is watching him eat with a frown she can’t quite bite back.  “You done training with him for today?”  She leans forward, frown deepening slightly as she searches his face.  “Delta said you were in pain while you were on the sim floor.  Are you still?  Do we need to take a quick trip to medical?”

“Mmm, yes to the trip, but not because I need it. Should be moving out of there today.” York shrugs, a movement he has to exaggerate in the armor. “Just a bit of soreness from being out of shape. Nothing serious. Nothing I haven’t felt before. Worrywart,” he adds, reaching across the table to rub his thumb at the furrow between her brows. 

She half closes her eyes at his touch, but when he drew his hand away, the level look she gives him makes it clear that she was going to be plenty watchful the rest of the evening.  He is progressing well, despite what his frustration might be telling him, and she’ll be damned if she’ll stand by and see him undo his hard work with simple stubbornness.  

“How much do you actually have to move out of there?  I don’t remember you keeping a lot in your room.  Still, I’ll happily be your beast of burden, if you want me to lug it back so you can go shed your armour.“ 

“Couple changes of clothes. Yard stick. Five pounds of gummy bears. Plus a few other pity gifts from the team. I won’t have you carry anything, darling,” he purrs, lowering his voice, “but I  _ will  _ have you help me strip in the locker rooms.”

York isn’t ready to admit that it’s the armor making him uncomfortable; the once familiar and comforting weight to it isn’t sitting right. Whether he’s lost muscle mass from the immediate aftermath of the attack, or just gotten used to casual clothes, it doesn't feel the same. Neither does the implant, or his own senses. Everything still feels like too much, the lights too bright, the sound of voices too loud.

But, hey, at least the food tastes the same; like nothing.

“The sooner, the better,” he concludes.

“Sure.”  Carolina stands, stacking her empty tray on top of York’s.  “Which do you want to do first?”  

“Strip. Easier for you to get to me that way,” he admits, leaving the bait - the offer - plain in his words. “Plus, Tricia might want to give me a physical before I go. You can watch. Make sure she does her job right.”

“Sounds good to me.”  Carolina pulls the trays toward her, out of his reach.  “Let me just walk these over, and we can get out of here.”  She flashes a smile - small and worried, but still a smile - before stepping away.  

Conceding defeat on the all important battleground of ‘who puts away the dishes’ York waits for her in the doorway to the mess. They fall into step easily, though he towers over her in armor, the scant inches he has on her in height magnified. The helmet, however, he continues to carry in his hand.

There’s no one else in the locker room when they arrive. The leaderboard looms over them through the glass, omnipresent. York turns his back on it and hangs up his helmet, starting with the easy pieces like the backs of his hands and his forearms.

“Warn me before you drop the chestpiece,” he says. 

“Will do - just give me a second.”  Carolina grunts, working to put some weight into her motion, trying to undo the first catch that would separate the chest piece from the back plating, reaching to work a little higher than was comfortable.  “You -- never make this easy.  I think you  _ like _ hearing me ask you to get on your knees.”  The first catch springs free in her hand.  “Maybe I will still manage this time, just out of spite.”  

“... do you want me on my knees? I mean would it make this easier?” There’s a bench nearby - York kicks out a leg, intending to hook his ankle around the  bottom and drag it over. He misses the first time but gets it on the second, dragging it closer and propping up a leg. “Thought you could handle it,” York adds, working on the boots and finding the muscle memory lacking. He frowns, trying to recall all the specific steps.

“You ready?  I think I’ve just about got--”  Carolina braces hard against York’s armour, then lets out a grunt, followed a gentle kick at his ankle.  “Ok, fine.  When you’re done there… on your knees.  I’d like to get this done some time tonight and you’re too damn tall.”

“Sure,” he replies, still absorbed in trying to remember the steps. Delta slips into the back of his mind, quiet and unobtrusive.  _ Thumb the switch, twist the four dials, then step out of it.  _ “Right. Thanks.”

Just as fast, Delta retreats, leaving York alone but aware of his presence like tinnitus. The boot comes off quick, and starts to ease himself to his knees - not on the bench, just to be cheeky and obedient - when fear hits them both like a knife.

A knife to the back of his neck.

York stumbles, catching himself on the locker just in time, and refuses to look at Carolina.

“York?”  She freezes, a gesture away from releasing the armour, voice hesitant, unsure she should even ask.  “...you okay?”  Of course he isn’t, it’s obvious, but she at least wants to give him the chance to say it, to tell her…

“Yeah. just--” God, it really is so much worse with Delta in; York has to force himself to relax, to move, and even then he has to turn around and put his back towards the lockers. “Is sitting all right?” He hopes it is. Delta nearly put himself in lockdown just from that. 

“Of course, that’s fine -- just hold on, I’m almost done… here it comes--”  It takes a lot less effort to release the second catch, and Carolina supports the chestpiece against York’s chest, waiting for him to claim it.  “I can either take the back plate off now, or give you a second… what would be better?  York?  Sweetheart?”

York cradles the armor in his hands, examining it for damage, warping - anything that might explain why it’s uncomfortable to wear. At the sound of his name, he snaps back to the moment.

“Uh-- yeah, sure.” After a moment’s hesitation, he cups one gloved hand over the back of his neck, seeing if it would help. (It doesn’t.) “Try it anyway.”

She hesitates, then lowers her head to rest against his.  “Just hold on for another second more… it’s just me, York.  You know you’re safe with me.  I will never hurt you.  No one ever will, if I’m here.  Brave heart, love… here goes…”

There’s only one catch on the back, but she’s painfully aware how close it is to his neck, and it’s a balancing act between being quick and being gentle.  When the piece drops into her arms, relief and dread hit her in a flood.  “You okay?” 

“Mm-hmm,” York manages; he is fine but Delta is not, spiking his headache up to splitting before calming back down. “D, if you lock down in there--”

Delta responds by hitting York with a wave of anxiety strong enough it nearly bowls him over, but it passes over him just as fast.

“We’re okay. I promise.” He’s not sure which of the two he’s talking to, but he means it, heaving a sigh and focusing on the plates on his thighs.

She lowers the back plate to the ground, joins him to work on his opposite thigh, hands more quick and sure now that she can reach properly.  She keeps up a quiet string of encouragement, as much to support him as it is to break the unnatural silence hanging over him.  Thigh plate hits the floor, and one greave and she waits for him to catch up, trying not to stare at his shaking hands.

Once the last piece falls away, York catches her before she can stands and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m okay. Little PTSD is all.” 

The throbbing headache Delta is giving him is eclipsing his unease, so York starts to unzip his undersuit to the waist.

“Hey, easy...you look like you need help with that too.”  Of course he doesn’t, but it’s worth it just to catch his eye for that half second, just long to give him a smile and press her lips to his forehead once she’s standing.  “Well, maybe not need… but I’d love to help you anyway.”

“You realize I plan on putting different clothes back on, right? And then get examined by judgy doctors who know we’ve been fucking?” That being said, York makes a point of rolling his shoulder and stretching as he stands, popping open his locker and retrieving his shirt from earlier.

“Well, if you’re saying no, I’m content to just sit back and enjoy the show.  Far be it from me to try and convince you of anything… untoward.”  Truth be told, she wasn’t content at all to do so, torn between concern and arousal.  

Actually, “arousal” didn't do it justice.  It was still too soon after her six month injection, the mandatory birth control that all female Freelancers were required to have in order to be a part of the program.  The mix of hormones and chemicals effectively put her entire reproductive system on hold, not only preventing any “little complications” but menstruation as well.  

Along with it came the side effects that wrecked havoc in her joints, head and stomach in the hours immediately after the shot, as her body attempted to absorb and process more than it naturally ever handled.  And because new doses overlapped with the previous in order to prevent any lapse in protection, other side effects lingered - for one, the mood swings that could see her flip from nearly manic to ragingly vicious in mere seconds.  She cringed to remember a blazing row with Niner in the corridors of the ship, one that sent witnesses diving for cover as she went toe to toe in a screaming match with one of her best friends. 

Then there was York and the additional effects.  Despite still being tethered to Recovery, his limited freedom had given them time alone together. He had been as eager as she was to put aside the terror and anxiety of his brush with death and feel alive again in each other's arms.  However, they soon discovered that once that match was lit, it didn't take much to fan it into a wildfire. She burned alive with need and nearly wrung him out in order to quench it.  And while things had greatly evened out over the last few days, the rising heat in her chest was sign enough that some effects still lingered.

But if this appointment was the last hurdle they had to pass over to get York back into a normal life again, on the surface at least, then she’d bite her tongue, cross her legs and try to think of anything but his bare back and how good it looks when she's left fingernail tracks all over it.  Let him get through this and have one less thing weighing so heavily on his shoulders.  There will be time after. 

He’s not shy about stripping in front of her, but York keeps her in his line of sight as he pulls the suit the rest of the way down, catching his briefs as it tries to take them with it. Pants replace them, dry against his sweat-damp skin, and he pulls on shoes before coaxing her back out into the hallway.

The leaderboard, where his name sits at six, gets one last look before he closes the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

“Everything seems to be working as it should. The implant seems to be conducting electricity just fine, and you’ve managed not to re-injure yourself from physical activity.” Thankfully it’s Tricia this time, so that last remark carries little judgement, only simmering amusement. “Would you like my help in removing the Delta AI, Agent York?”

“I’d rather Carolina do it, if that’s okay.”

“Understood. You are officially,” and she taps something on her tablet, “released from Recovery. Please stop by and see us if anything changes, but we are trusting your judgement on this. Have a good evening.”

Carolina feels a surge of affection as Tricia gave them both one last smile and left.  She turned to York and the affection swells further.  “Okay - I insist on carrying the yardstick.  We can argue about the rest, but  _ that _ -” she snatches it up off his bed - “is going to find a perfect spot in your room for display.” She turns her smile to him.  “York?”

He blinks up at her, a step behind the conversation. “Mm? Oh. Yeah, that.” He lets a smile steal across his features.”Sounds good. Can you-- help pull Delta, now?”

“Of course.”  Carolina hesitates.  “But you’ll have to talk me through it.  I helped put it in, haven't yet tried to take it out.  Hurts coming out as well, doesn't it?”  She takes his arm, turning him gently so she can take a look at the chip before she slips back in front of him again-- she doesn't want to spend more time out of his sight than necessary, trying to avoid stressing him by standing behind him for too long.  

“It’s not as bad. … Ready, D?” A silent agreement, but one that doesn’t sound too pleased. “Hey now, you know Carolina. She’s our friend. You don’t have to be scared.”

_ “I am not scared, Agent York. I am merely… preoccupied. But you may remove me. I am aware of your headache.” _

“Same thing as before,” York instructs once Delta flickers and vanishes, preparing to be powered down. “Push it in, turn counterclockwise until the dots line up, and it should pop out.”

“Sounds simple enough.”  Carolina smiles, brushing her fingers against cheek, fighting the urge to kiss him, exposed as they were through the windows.  Instead, she moves her fingers across his cheek to the back of his neck, careful to keep her movements slow so he could track them, so nothing would take him by surprise.  “I'm going to touch the chip now, pushing in...turning...and-”

It’s like shutting a door on a room full of people; the sudden silence is both a relief and a loss, isolation from a mind made to work alongside his own. York heaves a sigh and relaxes, holding out a hand for Delta’s chip.

Carolina places the chip in his hand, uses her own to close his fingers around it.  There are questions she wishes she could ask, just to be sure he's fine, to ask if it's getting any easier, but she doesn't want to see the tension rise in him again so soon.  Instead she picks up the yardstick and the small bag with his clothes a before he can argue.  “Come on, York.  Let's get you home.”

The walk there is mercifully short and uneventful, and he remembers his door code on the first try. Being in his own space is a relief, another step towards reclaiming what he’d lost. York tucks the bag of gummies in an insulated compartment below the mini fridge - already half filled with other treats from planetside - and shoves his clean clothes in the closet. Delta’s chip gets it’s usual place of honor, in a small tray on his nightstand, and then York falls backwards onto the mattress.

“I think someone washed my sheets?” he observes, running his palms over the top of the bed. It feels clean, but not the sterile-clean of recovery; a worn soft and tender sort of clean.

“Yeah.  It's almost like someone anticipated that you would be coming back soon and wanted you to be as comfortable as possible.”  Carolina sits on the edge of the bed, running her fingertips along his hairline, down the edge of his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.  “Someone who cares about you very much.”  She leans forward, and her kiss is feather light, secondary to the way she rests her forehead against his.  “Someone who is hoping to maybe enjoy the clean sheets with you.”

“Really? I’ll have to think of a way to thank them.” York grins, savoring her touch - even if the light in the room feels too bright and makes him squint, it’s worth the sensitivity to be able to focus on the caress of her lips and fingertips. His eyes flutter closed. “Should I get them a card?”

“Mmm. Yes. That sounds like a good idea.”  She sits up, and smiles at the way his eyes pop open.  “I'm sure you are very eager to make sure they are thanked properly, so I will get back to my quarters and let you work on that.”  She stands, avoiding his hands as he reaches out to grab her.  “I can see myself out, please don't get up.  Be sure to let me know if you need any help finding just the the right card!”  

“No no no, wait wait wait,” and he sits up, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her gently backwards. York presses a kiss on her stomach through her shirt. “Thank you, Carolina. You are the best.”

“Can't be.  I didn't receive a card saying so.”  But she breaks, laughing and pulls him in for a real kiss, one she's been carrying with her all day, eager to give him, and is relieved to finally--  _ finally--  _ feel him relax in her arms.  “Seriously though, you're welcome.  And I found you an extra pillow.  Well, found me an extra pillow.  But you can pretend to be generous and let me use it.”

York backs away, just enough to lay down properly, lacing his fingers with Carolina’s and coaxing her on top of him. “I love you,” he sighs, toeing off his shoes and pressing a kiss on the inside of her wrist. 

“Love you too.”  She draws their hands back to add a kiss of her own to his wrist. Then, just because she can, she nips the tip of one of his fingers, touching it with her tongue for only a second before leaning down to give him another kiss, this one more heated than the first.

He cups the back of her head with his hand, careful when his fingers touch the cool, yet unused AI port just below her hairline. His headache is seeping away, along with most of the tension from the day’s training, and he relishes the feel of Carolina’s knees on each side of his hips.

She's trying to hold back, to give him a chance to go slow, or even pull back, if he just wants to rest.  Whatever he wants right now, she will give him, even if it means desire will keep her from sleeping easily next to him tonight.  But the next kiss ends with her teeth against his lip, trying to gauge how he wants this to go.

“So,” he says, the syllable pulled out of him on a groan, “the locker rooms. You seemed to enjoy stripping me. Want to,” and he slides the hand on her neck down to tug at the collar of his shirt, biting his lip, “take this off?”

“Sit up.”  Now that he's showing willing, she has no desire to play coy.  As he obliges, she pulls the hem smoothly over his head, and once he's free, drops it over the side of the bed.  She pushes him back down, tensing her legs against his hips, and leans down to nuzzle the side of his neck, before raking her fingernails down his chest, rougher than she has before.

His body arches, following the movement, and York sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, eyes dancing across her body. “Yours, too? Can I?”

She doesn't answer, merely lifts her body off him just enough to give him access, one hand brushing down over his chest as she takes in with satisfaction the marks she has left on him.

With reverence, York slides her shirt up with his hands, running his palms over the smooth skin of her back and stomach, cupping her breasts through her bra before letting the garment fall back down. “Can I take your shirt off?” he repeats. 

“Yes.”  And it's all she can do to hold still for him, not immediately fall back to her favourite place at his neck, waiting as patiently as she can manage.

York takes off her shirt as fast as he can, with none of the grace she’s used to strip him, and tries to do the same with her bra. This gives him a bit more trouble, having to fight the firm elastic, but he gets it off eventually and falls back onto the pillows. His face is hot, both from the shame of struggling with such a task and the way she looks; hair a mess from his efforts and naked to the waist.

He leans up for a fresh kiss, pulling her against his chest to feel his skin on hers, and can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Every time.

She wants to hook her thumbs through the waist of his pants, free him, move things along, but she can't stop herself from grinding down on him, once, twice, and once started, it feels almost impossible to stop. Her skin is already burning, helped along by the lingering imbalance of the injection. Her lips are on fire and all she can think of is  _ more _ ...yet unable to back off enough to achieve it.

Underneath her, York moans and kisses her, sloppy and desperate, hands falling to her hips to pull her down even closer to him. It’s so good, the heat and pressure against his hardening cock, but it’s not enough. He moves his mouth to the side of her neck, breathing heavily, pressing his open mouth against her skin and tasting her sweat with his tongue.

“Carolina,” he begs, even as his grip on her tightens before sliding up to cup her breasts again. “You’re so good-- to me--”

Still grinding, frustration moving her nearly to tears, she can barely hear him.  “York, I need more... _ please…” _  She lifts herself off him enough to drag her nails down his chest again, both hands this time, desperate to drive him to...anything, god anything... _ more… _

She’s tearing at his paper-thin restraint, the part of him who loves to draw this own until he’s nearly in pain, but orders are orders. With a murmured agreement, his moves his mouth down to one of her nipples, pressing the flat of his tongue against it before lightly sucking. He’s careful not to use much teeth, pressing one hand against her back to bring her closer while the other fumbles with the catch of her jeans. It should be easy to get the button undone, drag the zipper down - he’s done it a hundred times - but all he can focus on is the now, and how hot her skin feels under his touch.

She gasps at the wet heat of his mouth, and it's enough to finally break her out of of her rhythm.  She freezes above him, trembling, losing her breath and panting desperately to catch up.  She can feel him fumbling at her pants but he's on his own -- her shaking hands couldn't manage it right now if she tried.

Her pause catches his notice, gives him enough time to taunt, “gonna make me do all the work this time?” before undoing her pants enough to slip his hand between her underwear and her skin. She's already wet, and it makes his throat tighten from lust and a base satisfaction that he can affect her like this.

York wants her to come just from his fingers inside her and his mouth at her collarbone, but this angle only lets him stroke her clit and trace her inner lips. “Hang on,” he groans, backing up on the bed with the intent of leaning against the wall and having Carolina in his lap.

Carolina allows herself to be drawn up to him, settled just so, and is dimly aware that the words of encouragement falling from her lips are little more than babble.  She leans forward, leaving open mouthed kisses down York’s neck, sucking at his collarbone with more force than she intends. 

And so it's York who gasps the louder of the two when he slips his finger inside Carolina properly; a broken noise as she puts a bit of teeth into one of the hickeys. He can hardly remember to move, paralyzed by pleasure, but the movement of his wrist is muscle memory by now. One thumb on her clit, a gentle pressure in slow circles, and two fingers buried to the knuckles. She's riding his hand hard enough that the back of his arm is just barely brushing against his dick in his pants, and York has to catch her mouth in a kiss to muffle another sound.

York's moan reverberates in her, and she returns it in a feeble echo, dimly aware that they are wrecking each other without even trying.  He's as deep into her as is possible for him to get like this, but she's still straining, pushing him, and she'll probably pay for it later in bruises.  But consequences are meaningless now as he moves inside her, and she's no longer sure is her mantra of “ _ more...more” _ is still safely in her head or voiced with every breath.

“Is this not enough?” York asks, distantly aware how wrecked his voice sounds to his own ears. “Or do you just n-not want me to stop?” He doesn't want to stop, either, still clinging to the idea of feeling her inner muscle clench around his fingers, but god he wants all of her, to give her all of him in turn. The way he flicks her nipple with his tongue before blowing cool air on wet skin probably doesn't help her be coherent enough to answer. 

“Don't...don’t stop,”  But she doesn't know if he can even hear her ragged whisper-- she can barely hear herself.  So instead she catches his earlobe in her teeth and pulls.

Shit. There's sweat starting to run down the small of his back - he should have bothered to put pillows between his spine and the wall - but every ounce of discomfort is burned alive in the heat of her mouth on his skin. York adds a third finger that glides in with the rest and just barely curls them on his way out, rubbing the pads along her g-spot.

She doesn't last more than half a dozen strokes.  Her only warning is a rush of heat low in her body, and orgasm blindsides her.  She seizes around York, every joint locking with the force of it, and the fire that has been raging in her skin threatens to consume her.  He slows but doesn't stop moving, and her body convulses, her head dropping to his shoulder, overwhelmed.

“There we go, darling,” he breathes, switching back to two fingers to help her ride it out, let her coast on the high without being too harsh on hyper-sensitive skin. The kisses he drops on her jaw and cheek are pure affection, even if he’s still rock hard under her. “God, you're so beautiful.”

The tension leaves as quickly as it came and she's drained.  The fire has finally left her skin, and she nestles against his chest, greedy for his heat.  She manages a shaky kiss against his neck, and a sigh that relaxes any muscles that were still holding out.  “That was…” she starts, then pauses, trying to think of any word besides “good”.  But she can't, so she hums contentedly into his throat instead.

“Yeah? I'm glad.” York can't quite steady out his breathing, especially not with Carolina so close and affectionate. He runs his dry hand up and down her back in soothing motions, filled to the brim with restless energy. He’ll wait for her to be ready - if she gets there - and until then he can be patient, and gentle, and ease his hand out of her clothes.

Carolina manages to sit up enough to face him, to rest nose to nose while trying to focus enough to look into his eyes.  Once his hand finally is removed from between them, she settles more comfortably over his hips, and catches the tiny flutter of his lashes as she moves.  She smiles, leaning forward for a long lazy kiss, and just as they part, she rolls his hips over him.

If it was anyone other than Carolina, York would have been ashamed at the sound he made, the way his whole body jerks to follow her motion. But it is Carolina, who can do whatever she sets her mind to, and there is no shame in being a slave to her every action. Even the sweep of her tongue in his mouth makes him shudder, and he finds himself planting both hands on her hips with the intent to keep her rocking against him.

“Mmm...nice try.  Not yet.”  One more nip at his bottom lip, because she's discovered she likes it even more than he does, and she rises, drawing her leg back over his body and  trying not to let on just how much she is still shaking.  “Lay down, pants off.”

York shimmies down the bed, slower this time and hiding a flinch as he stretches out. Carolina’s hands meet his on the waistband of his sweatpants; in unison, they slide both pants and briefs down and he kicks them off, leaving him bare to her eyes. With a subtle tremor, he raises his hands above his head and crosses his wrists, opening up his body to her entirely even as his stomach muscles clench under the chill of leaking precum from his cock.

She pauses a moment just to take him in, to let her eyes rise over his thighs, his cock, abs and chest.  She enjoys the movement as he breathes, unsteady and hesitant, as though he is struggling to find an even rhythm.  The muscles in his shoulders shift as he fidgets, hands clenching to fists and relaxing again over his head.  

Then she looks directly into his eyes, holds his gaze as she finally slides off her jeans and uncomfortably wet panties, stepping out of them and crawling up on to the bed to hover over his body.  She straddles him again, but keeps plenty of space between their bodies.  Her hands are planted on either side of his head, and her hair falls around him, hiding the rest of the room from sight and she lowers her mouth to his lips.

“Hi there,” he whispers, between feather-light, teasing kisses - the barest hint of contact, but more than enough to make him ache with want.  

“Mmm.  How's your evening so far?”  She kisses the corner of his mouth, then along his bottom lip.

“Mmm,” York hums, nuzzling her as much as he can reach while flat on his back, “damn near perfect. My headache is gone, I’m finally back in my own room, and the most amazing woman in explored space is naked and on top of me. It’s about as good as things can get.”

Carolina coaxes his mouth open for a deeper kiss, enjoying the way his breathing becomes yet more uneven, then pulls away to hover above him again.  She shifts, reaching up to anchor his hands above his head.  “Mmm. Well I think if we put our minds to it,” she lowers herself on top of him, trapping his cock against her stomach, “we might come up with something even better.” 

Any words York had are lost in his throat as he arches under her, canting his hips up, seeking more of that sweet heat and friction. The weight of her body on his wrists keeps him from touching her, feeling her like he’d like but this is better. He wants her to drag it out like this, wants her to tease him and take what she needs from him, knowing that when he comes it’ll be all the better for the wait.

She doesn’t know how long she can keep this up - holding his arms in this position is slowly making her muscles burn, and she wants to use her hands for other things, but the way his  his eyes follow her, heavy-lidded and hungry, makes it more than worth it.  She lowers her mouth to the side of his neck again, carefully nipping all the way down his throat.

She shifts, repositions herself over his body, sliding up to straddle over his cock.  She keeps working at his throat with tongue and teeth, but his focus is clearly elsewhere, judging by the way his hips rise up to grind against her.  She lets him for a moment, but soon as as they lose friction, as soon as he’s slick with her, she rises to his ear.  “That’s enough.”  He doesn’t seem to hear her, and moves again, so she leans her weight into his wrists and nips his ear.  “Stop.” 

York goes at still as possible, entire body trembling from the effort. Not obeying her is unthinkable even if every nerve in his body is burning with a desire to feel her on him, around him, everywhere. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip and tries to remember how to breathe. 

“Good.”  She resumes her nuzzling, relaxing her grip on his wrists as she leaves little wet marks down his throat.  Even then she’s watchful, gauging the tension in his body, noticing the way he shivers, yet still obeys.  “Good.”  She releases her grip on his wrists, instead holding her palms flat over them, and rises slightly to look in his eyes.  “Hold them there.  Don’t move.”  She leans down to kiss him, without breaking their gaze, then rises, sitting up completely, her hands leaving his own behind.

She backs up slightly, centering herself on him, leaning over to reach between them, slide her fingers along his length.  It wasn’t her intention to tease, merely to check, but the broken sound he makes is gratifying anyway.  She pauses to watch him, but he only tosses his head before returning his eyes to her.  She smiles, and touches him again -- this time he closes his eyes and shudders, and his hands tighten to fists over his head, but he still stays in control.  “Very good, York.”   She uses her other hand to rake down his chest in reward, if additional torment can be called “reward” and while he’s distracted she raises herself up on her knees, positions him carefully and lowers herself down.         

“Ahh-- shit--” York gasps, already starting to grab for her when he remembers her instructions. His palms hit the bed on either side of him, desperately sinking into the freshly-washed sheets just to give him something to hold onto, something to ground himself. Carolina feels so good, so damn good it nearly hurts, the tight slick heat around his aching cock as she works herself open on him. “Yes yes yes yes yes,” and a dozen other pleas and profanities as he tries not to writhe underneath her.                                                                              

It's too soon, and as she takes him inside her, it sends tiny electric jolts through her body.  She doesn't break eye contact, refuses to wince, determined not to give any sign of discomfort.  She's rewarded for her self control as he begins to lose his, and every sound he makes kicks more sand off the embers of her banked desire.  

She bottoms out  _ finally _ and takes a second to get comfortable, mentally crossing her fingers that pain will turn to pleasure as quickly as possible.  She needn't have worried - the delicious way he begins to fall to pieces beneath her as she starts to move makes it hard to focus on anything else. She isn't ready to give him any relief yet though, so to make sure he continues to behave -- “hands back up.”

“You can’t be--” he starts, but realizes that of course she is. Even as she starts to ride him, slow enough to kill, she has to be serious. York grinds his teeth and reaches up, finding a pillow to grip for dear life and trying so, so hard to keep his hips still until he knows she’s adjusted to him.

She pauses a moment, leaning down so he doesn't miss a word.  “Good.  Now leave them there - otherwise I can put your new toys to good use-” she drops forward to kiss him, to draw out the threat, “-- and leave you there until you soften. I can wait. I left a book here somewhere.”  Another kiss, this one darker, aggressive.  “Your choice.”  It's a bluff - she has no idea where he's hidden his handcuffs.  

York chases her mouth, desperate for more contact. “Yes, ma’am,” he chokes, and he’s reminded that he might have chosen the wrong career if he gets off on being bossed around and tied up. “Touch me more?” he asks instead, biting his lip as she’s too far away to do it for him.

She doesn't answer, merely smiles as she starts to move again.  One these days she’s going to start teaching him to say “please”, but it won't be today.  She  _ wants _ to touch him and she isn't going to deny herself just because he has forgotten his manners.  But soon.  

She runs her hands down his chest, not rough, not leaving a new set of marks to layer with the others, but gentle, because even in their roughest moments she aches with love for him.  She fans her fingers as she moves her hands to each side, following the curve of his ribs, then starting over to bring the down further, spreading over his abs.  She ducks down for one last kiss before she repeats the motion again, this time she rests them on his hips, and uses them to brace herself as she picks up speed.  “Okay.  You can… you can move now.”

It takes him one or two tries but York melts into the rhythm she sets, together getting him deeper than before. Her hands on his skin could sear him, thumbs just barely brushing those sensitive spots on his hip bones, but it isn’t enough. He wants more of her, wants her to want more of him and work her back into a desperate state.

“Carolina,” her name is a prayer on his lips, and simultaneously profane, “please. I want-- I want to touch you-- wanna hold you and feel you-- make you feel so good.” The words take effort, and he hopes they’re coherent; with every rock of her hips she is dragging him to the edge and he doesn’t want to go without her.

His begging makes the coals burst back into flame, and she shudders as they move together.  She feels herself growing wet again, sliding easily with him.  “York, yes…”  She swallows and tries not to sound as though she's the one begging now. “You can use your hands.”

York’s hands snap to her sides like it’s been years since they’ve touched, not minutes - up her ribs to cup her breasts, running his thumbs over them before sliding down to her hips and just feeling her move them over him. Down further to the tops of her thighs and then up her spine to pull her by the back of her neck down for another kiss. He pours himself into it, snaring his hands in her hair and licking his way into her mouth, little half-formed words spilling out of his mouth when he breaks to breathe.

“Tell me what you want from me,” York moans, sucking on her bottom lip before falling heavily back against the mattress, drinking her in with hungry eyes. She’s a sight, now, hair sticking to sweaty shoulders and skin pink all the way to her chest. Not for the first time, he wishes he could have seen this before he’d gone a quarter blind.

She tries to think, but there isn't much she needs.  She can feel the heat of a second orgasm rising like a distant sun, edging over her horizon.  She searches her chaotic thoughts, trying to find something, anything she can give him.  And when she finds it, she closes her eyes, but is unable to hold back the tears that well up immediately.  “Don't pull out.  Stay-- stay inside until --the end.”

She rides him with abandon, in rebellion, in defiance of the Project and everything it might yet steal from them.  She imagines another world, another bed, and she falls forward to kiss him, to bury her face against his neck, and the beautiful sadness doesn't derail her, but pushes her over the edge. She half wails, half sobs against his neck as she tightens around him in ecstasy. 

York wraps his arms around her back and holds her as close as he can, pressing kisses to her shoulder until his orgasm hits him, hard enough it almost hurts, and he arches under her. The noise he makes drowns out all of her sweet sounds and can probably be heard down the hall, but he doesn’t care. All that he knows, all that matters to him is her as he comes inside of her, their limbs and fates entwined.

“I love you,” he says, as soon as he has air in his lungs. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”  The words come out weak and broken and she knows he didn't hear her.  She had wanted to hide her tears from him, but this was far more important.  She pushes herself up to face him and the tender look he gives her nearly breaks her again.  She reaches out to stroke his cheek, then lowers her forehead to rest against his.  “I love you, too.”

York rolls them over, pulling out and wrapping her in his arms, kissing the damp off her cheeks. “It's okay, sweetheart. It's all right. I'm here. Let it out.” He resumes tracing soothing circles in her back, craving contact in the aftermath as much as in the act. 

She’d warned him the six-month shot messed with her hormones but it didn't hurt him any less to see her sad, even assuming it was nothing but biology.

The tears refuse to stop but she smiles in his arms, the bitter is gone and only the sweet remains.  “I'm okay,” she says, and means it. His arms are a haven, and she shelters there with him, peaceful in the midst of a war.  Carolina snuggles closer, closes her eyes , but her contented sigh turns into a groan midway through.  “Oh no…”

“What's wrong?” York asks, pulling away only enough to look her in the eyes. 

She opens one eye to give him a rueful and disgusted grin.  “Let's just say...I’m glad I thought ahead and brought a second set of clean sheets.”  She squeezes her eyes shut again and can't stifle a laugh.  “Shit! York hurry...grab me a washcloth or a towel or...just anything!  Hurry!”  

In a panic, York hands her the first thing he sees - his shirt. “You okay?” he asks, which he probably should have asked first.

This time when she laughs, it's at him.  “Yeah, I'm fine.  Just… you made a mess in me and now…” another embarrassed smile “… there's a mess on the sheets.”   She can feel her face turning red and ducks down to rest her cheek against him, still laughing gently.

“Oh.” It shouldn't make him feel disappointed, of all things, but York’s heart sinks a little anyway. “Okay. You can-- borrow my shower if you want, I’ll just. Stay here. And wait for you to come back.”

“Hey.”  She hadn't anticipated this reaction - she had expected jokes, or possessive satisfaction, or at worst an apology.  “York? Talk to me.” She kisses him softly, pulls back to study his face. “What's going on?”

“It's nothing, you're fine, I'm--” he can’t meet her eyes, face flooding with heat. “--being too sentimental is all.”

“Sentimental about what?”  She runs her hand up and down his arm before twining their fingers together.  “Please?”

On a normal day, it’d be gut-wrenching to lie to her; and here, still naked and tangled up together York can't be anything but honest.

“It’s… I don't know what I expected, I know it's pointless but… part of me was inside you and it's just-- a waste, I guess. _ ”  _ It's hard to explain and harder to admit, the twisting want to have what felt important to him have been more than a temporary mess. To have somehow been able to stay with her, inside her, afterwards. He is definitely putting too much emotional weight on this. “Been a while since I did that.”

“Oh, York.”  He’s so open and vulnerable, and it’s so endearing that Carolina wishes she could crawl up into his lap and spend the rest of the night kissing him, but that will have to wait for later, once she’s clean.  “What’s more important - that it stays there, or that  _ you _ put it there?  I asked for it, and you gave me exactly what I wanted.”  She freed her hand from his and touched his cheek.  “Do you think I’m any less yours if you spilled it over me tonight, or it never touched me at all?”  

Her eyes drift down to his chest, and she drops her hand to trace over the red raised marks over his skin, the long scratches she left on him that he seems to treasure.  “Every time I do that, the scratches and bruises and hickeys you love, they disappear.  They heal, whether naturally, or because you help things along with the healing unit.  But  _ I  _ put them there.  I did it because I love you, and because we both get off when I “make you mine” _. _ And when those marks disappear, I just make new ones.  The marks aren’t what’s important.  What’s important is that I did it to you, and I did it because  _ you are already mine. _ ” 

She moves her hand back to his cheek again, drawing him in for a kiss- long, slow and gentle.  “So...don’t be too upset that it doesn’t stay.  What’s important is that  _ you _ stay, that you’re mine, and that I’m yours. We can do this a million times and I’ll still treasure it every time, because it’s  _ you _ , York.”  

She’s so brilliant, so dazzling, so  _ much  _ that York feels as though he’s going blind all over again. “Damn,” he breathes, completely overwhelmed; he means to brush her bangs out of her face and say something beautiful back, something that touches on how she always manages to surprise him, but he gravitates dumbly towards her mouth and kisses her, over and over, rolling her over him and onto her back on the edge of the bed to keep her away from any mess they’d left behind. “Damn, Carolina. I think you broke me.”

“God I hope not.”  Now it’s her turn to feel open and vulnerable.  “Because some days, York, I swear you’re the only thing that keeps me whole.”

“No, darling,” he says as he props himself up on his arms to look at her. “You keep yourself whole. I just-- remind you to get food and sleep sometimes.” Another kiss, because he can’t resist, and he pulls back to drink her in with her hair fanned out behind her head, mouth red from all their kisses, eyes sparkling and warm. All this, all of her like this, for him. “You’re amazing, Carolina. All on your own.”

That wasn't quite what she meant, but Carolina smiles under his praise anyway, glad to see him happy again.  She pulls him down for one last kiss, and when they part she gives him a shove as affectionate as the kiss, and swings her legs over the edge of the bed. She stands, plucks the soiled shirt off the sheets, balling it up carefully and tossing it to York.  “Sorry about that.  I’ll think ahead next time,” she said, carefully emphasizing that there would be a next time.   “I think I’ll take you up on that offer of a shower.  But you’re coming with me - you did this to me, after all.  Time to clean up your mess.”  

York heaves a sigh, settling down on his side and giving her a very appreciative look. “Sure thing. Just give me a second to remember how my legs work.”

“No, c’mon.”  She reached for his hands, attempting to haul him to his feet. “We gotta hurry, or we’re going to need to clean your carpet as well as your shirt and the linens.”  She leaned down for one last encouraging kiss.  “I refuse to get wet tonight without you, not even once.”

“Keep talking like that, and the shower isn’t gonna do much good,” he purrs, getting to his (unsteady) feet and leaning into her, letting her herd him into his bathroom. He’d follow her anywhere. He hopes he always can.

It’s good to be home.


End file.
